THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IDYLLS 

FROM 

CHAMPLAIN 


BY 
ELLA  WARNER  FISHER 


LEROY  PHILLIPS 

PUBLISHER 

1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 
PHILLIPS 


LOVINGLY  INSCRIBED 
TO 

MY  MOTHER 


054 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

MOTHER  DEAR 1 

LOVELY  CHAMPLAIN 4 

VERGENNES 7 

ON  MANSFIELD 9 

IN  ALLEN'S  BAY 10 

OUR  LAST  RIDE 12 

FARRAGUT  AT  MOBILE  BAY 14 

THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  VALLEY 17 

RELICS .19 

IN  THE  BORDERLAND 20 

A  PICTURE 25 

FROM  MY  WINDOW 26 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  CORN 27 

THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL 29 

WINTER  CLOUDS 31 

LONGING 32 

EARTH'S  MISSION 33 

ON  THE  PLAIN 35 

THE  WOE  OF  ST.  PIERRE 37 

THE  MOONLIGHT 39 

OCTOBER         40 

WHERE? 41 

THE  OTTER 43 

IN  THE  TWILIGHT 46 

THE  HOMELIGHT 48 

A  PRAYER 49 

IN  THE  DARK 50 

DISAPPOINTMENT 51 

ON  THE  CLIFFS  .                         52 


PAGE 

LOVE 53 

XT-  54 

VERSE 

How  THE  WEST  BEGAN 55 

NOR  YET  ALONE 56 

WHEN  I  WOULD  Go 58 

GOD'S  SMILE 

OUR  NAME     

WHY  WE  LOVE  VERGENNES 62 

-o  .      65 

BELLS 

LAYING  THE  CORNER  STONE 

A  SONG    .  70 


THE  VALLEY  WAY 

THERE  are  bards  who  soar  on  pinions  light 

'Mong  satellites  and  stars, 
Their  songs  with  rapture  thrill  the  night 

In  quivering  beauty  bars. 
They  bring  before  our  enchanted  gaze 

Elysian  fields  so  rare 
We  dream  of  Heaven.     'Twould  be  no  amaze 

To  wake  and  find  us  there. 

I  may  not  descend  into  the  deeps 

Or  soar  above  the  heights  ; 
I  may  not  walk  the  rugged  steeps 

Or  indulge  in  aerial  flights, 
But  I  can  travel  the  beaten  road 

Along  the  Valley  Way; 
I  can  chant  some  humble  ode 

For  the  folks  of  every  day. 

There  may  be  those  with  a  willing  ear, 

Who  carry  a  heavy  load. 
Perhaps  some  sorrowing  soul  will  hear 

Along  the  Valley  road. 
While  other  bards  soar  far  and  high, 

I  will  take  the  Valley  Way ; 
My  song  may  reach  the  hearts  close  by 

'Mong  the  folks  of  every  day. 


MOTHER  DEAR 

AFAR  away 

Some  forgotten  thread 

In  the  dim  past, 

Do  your  remember,  Mother  dear? 

The  garments  that  we  made? 

The  winding  of  the  baste 

Upon  a  spool 
In  the  hour  after  school, 
As  we  sat,  you  and  I, 

In  that  old  familiar  room 
On  a  winter  afternoon 
So  far  away. 

The  evening  fell, 

Do  you  remember,  Mother  dear? 
How  those  quiet  evenings  fell, 
Enlivened  by  the  readings 
While  our  patchwork  grew, 

And  on  the  children's  stockings 

Our  knitting  needles  flew  ? 
Oft  the  storm  without  was  raging, 
But  the  fire  was  burning  brightly, 
Where  we  sat  those  hours  together 

In  that  cosy,  well  loved  room 
So  far  away. 


[1] 


The  summer  came, 

And  a  soft  breeze  stirred  the  curtains 

At  the  open  window  hung. 
From  the  doorway's  ample  vista 
We  could  see  the  waving  cornfields 
And  the  clover  bloom  came  floating 

From  the  meadows 
Where  the  scythes  were  being  swung, 

In  those  happy,  hazy  days 
So  far  away* 

Do  you  remember 

We  brought  the  table  in, 

You  and  I,  Mother  dear? 
And  the  tempting  dinner  spread 
With  its  ample  dishes  filled, 
Hungry  men  to  satisfy? 

While  they  ate  with  eager  zest, 
From  the  fair  and  teeming  fields 
The  summer  fragrance  floated  in, 

To  that  old  and  cherished  room 
So  far  away. 

Long  and  silent 

Are  the  many  years  between, 

And  the  scythes  no  more  are  swinging 
In  the  meadows  sweet  with  bloom. 
Come  the  men  no  more  at  noonday 
From  their  washing  at  the  bench, 


[2] 


To  the  spreading  of  the  table 

In  that  flower  laden  room, 
For  no  backward  tide  is  rolling 
Save  the  memories  sad  and  sweet, 
And  those  days  are  gone  forever, 

As  a  volume  that  is  finished 
And  complete. 

The  Reader  sleeps. 

On  his  grave  the  grass  is  waving, 
Even  now  your  hair  is  white  — 
Is  it  evening,  Mother  dear? 

Do  others  keep  the  fires  burning, 
Where  we  used  to  sit  together 

With  the  quiet  and  the  peace, 
Sheltered  from  the  wind  and  weather, 

In  that  memory  laden  room 
So  far  away? 


[3] 


LOVELY  CHAMPLAIN 

FAINT  are  the  traces 

O,  lovely  Champlain, 

Of  the  limits  that  bound  you 

In  the  dim  silent  past. 

On  the  rocks  of  your  basin 

The  records  were  cast 

Ere  the  finger  of  man 

Was  created  to  write. 

When  your  waters  were  gathering 

From  forces  unseen, 

And  filling  the  hollows 

The  mountains  between, 

By  giant  upheavals 

Your  tides  were  confined, 

Ere  the  sun  of  the  morning 

Arose  on  your  face. 

Changing  your  moods 
O,  lovely  Champlain, 
The  wide  blue  above  you 
Where  scudding  clouds  sweep; 
The  craft  that  sail  o'er  you 
While  unruffled  you  sleep ; 
The  water  fowl  swooping 
With  bright  wings  outspread ; 
The  age  serried  cliffs 
And  the  steep  verdured  hills, 

[4] 


In  faithful  reflection 
Your  still  deeps  have  caught, 
All  spread  in  a  painting 
Of  imagery  rare. 

Changeful  your  moods, 

O,  lovely  Champlain, 

One  touch  of  the  wind 

You  are  moving  again, 

Your  waters  aripple 

All  studded  with  light, 

Like  fine  sheeted  silver 

Agleam  in  the  sun. 

Your  murmuring  plaint 

Calling  soft  to  the  shore 

In  lullabys  luring 

To  dreams  and  to  sleep, 

All  down  the  long  valley 

Where  your  bright  waters  sweep. 

Grand  is  your  wrath, 

O,  wondrous  Champlain, 

When  the  fierce  winds  sweep  o'er  you 

From  the  mountains'  steep  crown, 

Your  loud  angry  waters 

In  foam  crested  swells, 

Come  breaking  to  shoreward 

Where  the  lines  of  white  driftwood 

And  the  smooth  pebbles  lie, 

[5] 


Or  where  rocky  confines 
Rise  defiant  and  grim, 
And  the  wild  eagle  guards 
Her  brood  from  the  storm. 

But  useless  your  fury, 

O,  angry  Champlain, 

You  cannot  be  free 

Though  the  boom  of  your  anger 

Resound  like  the  sea. 

Staunch  cedars  and  pines 

Stand  fast  on  the  beach, 

Their  voices  in  harmony 

And  sympathy  blend, 

Unheard  is  their  calling 

While  the  storm  winds  sweep  on  - 

The  play  of  the  lightning 

And  the  thunder's  deep  roll, 

Seem  but  the  echo 

Of  your  own  surging  soul. 


[6] 


VERGENNES 

THERE'S  a  beautiful  valley  along  Champlain, 

A  sunlit  vale  of  dreams, 
Where  Nature  trails  her  garments  fair 

To  the  lilt  of  purling  streams. 
Adown  the  valley  a  river  deep 

Threading  its  swift  and  winding  way, 
Leaps  over  the  boulders  wild  and  steep, 

In  a  tumult  of  foaming  spray. 

And  ever  the  mists  above  it  rise, 

As  in  pristine  days  of  old, 
And  the  western  sunlight  filtering  through 

Turns  it  to  cloth  of  gold. 
The  lure  of  its  call  drew  Nature's  child, 

The  swift  footed  Red  Man,  here ; 
As  through  the  tangle  of  forest  wild 

He  chased  the  fleeing  deer. 

The  White  Man  heard  its  murmuring  call, 

And  his  axe  resounding  rang, 
The  forest  blossomed  about  the  Fall 

And  the  forge  of  the  smithy  sang. 
A  city  he  built  on  the  hillsides  there 

And  the  hollows  that  lie  between; 
A  spot  endowed  by  Nature  rare 

Along  the  river's  bright  sheen. 


m 


The  city  still  stands  about  the  Fall, 

Its  founders  have  passed  away, 
And  many  have  heard  the  luring  call 

Since  that  dim  and  distant  day. 
There  are  grander  cities  beneath  the  skies, 

But  none  that  are  half  so  dear, 
Where  shrouding  mists  o'er  the  waters  rise 

And  beckoning  wraiths  appear. 


[8] 


ON  MANSFIELD 

To  the  North  from  the  din  of  the  City, 

The  Monarch  of  Mansfield  lies, 
The  scars  of  the  centuries  seam  his  face, 

Raised  high  in  the  gleaming  skies ; 
Huge  masses  of  rock  rise  defiant ; 

Their  outlines  forbidding  and  wild, 
And  the  winds  sweep  free  and  unbroken 

Over  Solitude's  favorite  child. 

The  lovers  of  Nature  have  found  him, 

The  flaws  in  his  armor  they  know, 
The  rare  mosses  fed  by  cool  waters, 

On  their  way  to  the  valley  below ; 
The  nooks  in  the  sweet  swaying  balsams, 

The  caves  in  his  dark  stony  side, 
The  lake  that  he  hid  in  his  bosom, 

The  paths  that  to  man  he  denied. 

The  lovers  of  Nature  have  found  him, 

From  out  of  the  east  and  the  west, 
Over  boulders  and  brake  and  tangle 

They  come  from  valley  to  crest, 
They  watch  the  red  sunset  at  even, 

The  glory  of  sunrise  they  know, 
The  glimpses  of  cloudland  and  Heaven, 

And  the  silent  world  below. 


[9] 


IN  ALLEN'S  BAY 

O  LIMPID  sparkling  water, 

All  shimmering  in  the  Bay ! 
Still  rippling  on  the  stony  beach 

As  it  did  that  distant  day, 
When  here  we  raised  our  tent 

Ere  fell  the  eventide, 
And  the  little  woodland  dwellers 

To  hidden  nests  had  hied. 

The  fragrant  pine  and  cedar 

With  boughs  all  interlaced, 
For  us  a  sheltering  canopy 

By  lavish  Nature  placed. 
'Twas  here  our  rude  board  table 

In  jest  and  laughter  laid, 
Was  circled  by  dear  old  faces  — 

May  their  memory  never  fade. 

Right  here's  the  very  crevice 

Where  we  piled  the  rocks  up  higher, 
And  hung  our  steaming  kettle 

Above  a  crackling  fire. 
Our  bonfires  cleft  the  darkness 

When  summer  nights  were  warm, 
And  here  our  boats  lay  rocking 

In  sunshine  and  in  storm. 


[10] 


The  faces  gay  and  smiling, 

Who'll  smile  at  us  no  more  — 
We  seem  to  see  them  once  again 

Along  this  dear  old  shore ; 
Some  are  gone  away  forever, 

In  quiet  graves  they  lie, 
And  some  in  countries  far 

For  home  in  vain  may  sigh. 

Reverently  we  are  standing 

With  sweet  memories  all  around, 
And  softly  they  remind  us 

That  this  is  hallowed  ground. 
The  twilight  shades  are  falling  — 

The  close  of  a  radiant  day ; 
But  voices  still  are  calling 

To  us  in  Allen's  Bay. 


OUR  LAST  RIDE 

IT  was  a  country  road  that  wound  away 
In  long  white  stretches  that  summer  day, 
Nature  lay  locked  in  a  calm  so  dead, 
Not  the  stir  of  a  leaf  in  the  trees  overhead. 

With  hanging  head  in  the  sultry  heat 
The  horse  went  on  with  reluctant  feet, 
The  wheels  rolled  slowly  in  deep  white  sand, 
And  an  old  man  drove  with  trembling  hand. 
His  hair  was  bleached  with  the  passing  years, 
And  his  gaze  intent,  as  one  who  hears 
Some  far  off  call  with  tightening  dread 
While  life  yet  dear,  holds  by  a  thread. 

And  so  we  journeyed  that  sultry  day, 
But  few  we  met  on  the  lonely  way. 
The  bridges  were  swept  by  recent  rain, 
And  we  drove  out  on  the  grassy  plain, 
Over  the  pebbles  of  the  shallow  bed 
Where  the  crystal  river  noisily  sped, 
Then  we  came  to  a  village  street  — 
Fit  place  for  a  hermit  to  retreat, 
With  silent  houses  on  either  side, 
And  vacant  windows  open  wide. 
Doors  on  broken  hinges  slack ; 
Storm-swept  clapboards  beaten  black ; 
Grass  grown  yards  and  empty  space, 
Threw  a  strangeness  o'er  the  place. 
[W] 


One  house  there  was,  it  looked  almost  new, 
Where  people  lived  and  flowers  grew. 

A  leaning  bridge ;  a  ruined  mill, 
Its  cumbrous  wheel  forever  still; 
Swallows  circling  about  their  nests 
Cobwebs  clinging  to  their  breasts. 
Bold  and  fearless  within  its  shade 
Bats  and  owls  their  homes  had  made. 
A  chattering  squirrel  perched  aloft ; 
A  brown  wren  calling  in  accents  soft ; 
These  and  others  within  its  shade 
Happy  and  fearless  their  homes  had  made. 

Where  are  they  who  once  dwelt  here  ? 
And  do  their  ghosts  of  nights  appear  ? 
Do  leaning  porch  and  mildewed  walls 
Resound  to  strange  sepulchral  calls? 
And  phantom  feet  o'er  sunken  floors 
Pass  in  and  out  the  creaking  doors? 
Just  vacant  houses  and  ruined  mill, 
And  silence  of  nature,  0  how  still ! 

Then  we  turned  in  the  grassy  street, 
And  homeward  jogged  in  the  sultry  heat, 
Over  long,  lone  stretches  of  deep  white  sand, 
And  an  old  man  drove  with  trembling  hand. 


[13] 


FARRAGUT  AT  MOBILE  BAY 

THE  enemy's  forts  a  stern  front  wore 
Like  sentinel  guards  on  either  shore ; 
Where  the  turbid  waters  to  seaward  sweep, 
Destructive  missiles  lay  buried  deep. 
Defiance  blazed  from  each  bristling  gun 
Of  the  hostile  fleet  in  the  morning  sun ; 
His  battering  rams  awaited  the  fight, 
Sheeted  in  armor  and  hidden  from  sight, 
And  with  bated  breath  in  silence  lay 
Upon  the  waters  of  Mobile  Bay. 

Admiral  Farragut  our  bright  flag  bore 
On  the  fifth  of  August  in  sixty-four, 
From  every  staff  of  his  ships  of  war 
As  they  sailed  across  the  harbor  bar; 
More  thrilling  sight  not  often  is  seen 
As  they  waved  and  fluttered  in  starry  sheen. 
Each  burnished  deck  was  cleared  for  fight 
And  spotless  shone  in  the  morning  light, 
From  gulf  to  channel  in  battle  array 
On  the  fair  false  bosom  of  Mobile  Bay. 

The  brooding  silence  in  echoes  awoke, 
Over  Fort  Morgan  rolled  the  angry  smoke ; 
Beneath  the  waters  in  a  deadly  mine 
Lay  the  enemy's  hidden  torpedo  line. 
Commander  Craven  the  fray  began 
With  the  doomed  Tecumseh  leading  the  van ; 
[14] 


She  quivered  and  poised  an  instant  and  then 
With  her  crew  of  over  a  hundred  men, 
In  a  watery  vortex  was  downward  borne, 
While  loved  ones  still  in  the  Northland  mourn. 

Then  into  the  midst  of  the  deadly  shelling 

Came  Admiral  Farragut  his  orders  telling, 

Far  up  the  rigging,  and  then  lest  he 

Become  the  prey  of  the  hungry  sea, 

Was  lashed  to  the  shrouds  on  the  Hartford's 

deck 

And  sailed  above  the  Tecumseh's  wreck ; 
Above  the  perilous  torpedo  mine, 
Where  each  missile  raked  his  ships  in  line, 
Then  each  in  turn  dropped  harmless  away 
In  the  troubled  waters  of  Mobile  Bay. 

As  to  right  and  left  his  brave  ships  fought, 

Out  of  confusion  good  order  he  wrought ; 

To  right  and  left  rose  the  battle  smoke 

And  far  inland  the  booming  broke ; 

Earth  with  bolted  thunder  was  riven 

When  an  angel  left  her  place  in  Heaven ; 

No  mortal  saw  the  wings  she  spread 

Over  the  daring  Admiral's  head, 

But  unscathed  he  came  through  the  dreadful 

fray 
On  the  wreck  strewn  waters  of  Mobile  Bay. 


[15] 


Each  fort  was  silenced;  each  bristling  gun 
That  burnished  shone  in  the  morning  sun, 
Smirched  and  blackened  at  eve  hung  stilled, 
And  moans  of  the  wounded  the  night  air  filled ; 
Dead  men  lay  where  the  living  had  been, 
And  a  brooding  hush  fell  soft  on  the  din. 
Peace  is  bought  at  the  price  of  war, 
And  it  settled  over  the  harbor  bar, 
When  Farragut,  Heaven  protected  that  day, 
Won  the  battle  of  Mobile  Bay. 


[16] 


THE  CHURCH  IN  THE  VALLEY 

THERE'S  a  moss  grown  church  in  the  valley, 

And  ivy  climbs  over  the  wall; 
The  tall  grass  grows  over  the  threshold 

Where  the  silent  night  dews  fall. 
The  old  bell  lies  there  in  the  turret, 

And  its  musical  chiming  is  still, 
Once  it  awoke  the  glad  echoes 

Through  valley  and  towering  hill. 

Where  is  the  rosy  cheeked  maiden 

And  where  is  the  wrinkled  dame, 
Who  every  Sabbath  morning 

From  over  the  meadows  came? 
And  where  is  the  grey  haired  sexton 

Who  stood  on  the  belfry  stair, 
And  rang  the  old  bell  in  the  turret 

While  the  worshippers  gathered  there? 

Go  out  in  the  silent  church  yard, 

For  there  they  are  all  laid  low, 
And  there  is  the  white-haired  preacher 

Of  fifty  years  ago. 
And  there  is  the  good  old  deacon, 

Who  sat  by  the  chancel  rail 
And  prayed  the  Lord  to  gather  the  grain 

And  burn  up  the  wayward  kale. 


[17] 


There  are  grand  churches  in  the  City ; 

The  City  that  rose  in  a  day, 
And  the  old  stone  church  in  the  valley 

Is  now  but  a  ruin  grey. 
And  the  simple  village  people, 

As  they  pass  on  the  other  side, 
Will  warn  you  in  awe-struck  whisper 

To  give  it  a  margin  wide. 

As  you  stand  in  the  gathering  shadows 

And  list  to  each  sound  that  you  hear, 
There's  something  indefinite  stealing, 

And  fancy  is  morbid  with  fear ; 
The  wind  rustles  vague  through  the  ivy 

And  over  the  tombstones  bare, 
And  the  spirit  of  buried  ages 

Seems  keeping  you  company  there. 

You  look  for  the  white-haired  preacher 

With  text  book  in  his  hand, 
And  the  rush  of  a  night  bird  past  you 

Seems  a  guest  from  another  land. 
The  rats  in  the  belfry  daze  you, 

And  you  go  with  quickened  tread 
And  leave  the  old  church  in  the  valley 

Alone  with  its  slumbering  dead. 


[18] 


RELICS 

i 
THERE'S  a  nameless  charm  about  them 

The  things  of  bygone  days, 
They  are  quaint  and  strangely  fashioned, 

Nor  fit  our  modern  ways. 
We  touch  them  with  reverent  fingers, 
And  our  fond  thought  o'er  them  lingers, 
And  the  ones  who  loved  them  so 
Long  ago. 

There's  a  mystic  charm  about  them, 

The  relics  of  days  of  yore, 
But  we  shall  do  without  them, 

As  those  who  have  gone  before. 
When  we  are  gone  will  some  one  care, 
Or  a  thought  on  these  old  relics  spare, 
And  wonder  why  we  loved  them  so 
Long  ago? 


[19] 


IN  THE  BORDERLAND 

I  HAVE  been  in  the  house 

Of  my  childhood  to-day, 

Exploring  the  rooms 

Where  I  used  to  play. 

The  sunrise  glinted  pellucid  gold 
Through  its  eastern  windows 
And  its  doorway  old, 
Under  the  slant  of  its  lowly  eaves, 
Where  nest  of  the  homing  swallow  eleaves, 

I  passed  again,  as  once  I  passed 

When  the  posts  were  straight 

And  the  sills  were  fast, 

Into  the  silent  kitchen  door. 

And  again  I  saw 
The  great  dim  fireplace, 
The  old  oak  floor, 

The  roomy  pantry,  dismantled  and  bare, 
Once  big  and  exhaustless, 
With  dainties  to  spare ; 
The  little  bedroom  that  used  to  be  mine 
Sunken  and  mildewed 
And  silent  as  time  — 
Once  draped  with  red  peonies 
And  asparagus  plumes, 
Its  broken  paned  window 
The  sunshine  illumes. 

[20] 


On  into  the  parlor,  my  Grandmother's  room, 
Where  shades  of  green  made  a  semi-gloom. 

And  I  saw  again 
Its  wide  open  fireplace 
And  andirons  bright, 
Where  the  fire  leaped  high 
On  a  wintry  night ; 

The  flawless  spare  bedroom 

With  its  fourposter  staid, 

Where  Grandmother's  star  quilt 

All  spotless  was  laid. 

I  looked  up  the  stairway, 

Began  its  ascent, 

It  tottered  and  creaked 

As  upward  I  went. 

To  the  dear  old  chamber 
With  its  dormer  window 
Looking  out  on  the  East  — 

With  a  chair  I  oft  climbed 
To  a  seat  on  the  sill; 
Its  outlook  and  quiet 
My  need  seemed  to  fill. 

Unmolested  the  birds 
Had  builded  their  nests, 
The  riot  of  sunrise 
Lay  bright  on  their  breasts ; 


They  fluttered  and  flew 
In  frightened  dismay, 
While  I  carefully  threaded 
My  onward  way 

To  the  wide  front  chamber, 
My  Grandmother's  pride, 
Where  her  guests  of  honor 
Oft  came  to  abide. 

I  tiptoed  across  its  clattering  floor, 

Its  walls  and  its  windows  were 

A  chaos  of  ruin  and  nothing  more. 

In  those  far-a-way  days 

When  my  small  feet  strayed 

Across  its  threshold,  like  one  arrayed 

In  some  act  forbidden, 

I  backed  to  the  door 

Close  watching  for  goblins 

I  felt  must  be  there, 

Precipitate  fled,  the  chills 
Down  my  spine, 
The  wind  in  my  hair. 

In  the  big  front  yard 
There  now  is  no  trace, 
Of  the  flowers  whose  fragrance 
Once  filled  the  place. 


The  sweet  old-fashioned  things  I  loved, 
Each  side  of  the  walk 
That  led  to  the  door 

Are  gone. 

But  the  old  stone  step 
Worn  smooth  by  the  feet 
That  will  tread  it  no  more, 
Lies  just  as  it  lay 
In  my  childhood  days 
So  far  away. 

The  lilacs  are  gone 

And  the  climbing  rose 
That  festooned  the  window  there, 
The  sunsets  fall  with  the  bright  blaze 
Of  glory  rare. 

The  purple  deeps  of  the  twilight  lie 
As  they  used  to  lie  on  summer  nights, 
When  living  forms  passed  to  and  fro 
In  the  homey  blaze  of  cheery  lights. 

Those  days  are  gone 

And  the  forms  are  gone 
Once  our  love  and  care; 
The  spirit  of  things 
That  once  have  been, 
Are  vanished  like  empty  air. 
[23] 


We  shall  find  our  loves 
In  the  Borderland, 

It  is  not  so  far  away ; 
Its  homes  yield  not 
To  stain  or  spot 
Of  ruin  or  decay. 


[24] 


A  PICTURE 

THE  water  laps  softly  on  the  beach, 
And  from  my  feet  a  shimmering  track 
Sparkles  and  scintillates 
Across  the  Bay  in  the  moonlight. 
Back  in  the  dim  woods 
Are  shadowy  aisles 
Where  the  crickets  are  singing, 
And  now  and  then  a  glow  worm 
Glistens  in  the  path. 

There  are  no  lights  in  the  Cottage; 

The  broad  Lake  lies  silent 

Beneath  the  stars ; 

The  pines  nod  softly  to  each  other, 

For  God  has  descended  from  His  Heaven. 


[25] 


FROM  MY  WINDOW 

WINTER  rain  came  pattering  down, 

It  soaked  the  roofs  of  the  grey  old  town, 

The  skies  turned  a  dark  and  sullen  hue, 

The  air  grew  a  little  keener  too ; 

The  snow  fell  light  as  thistle  down, 

And  whitened  the  earth  so  bare  and  brown; 

It  flurried  about  each  skeleton  tree, 

And  with  every  passer-by  made  free ; 

It  coated  each  roof  in  spotless  white, 

And  on  each  shrub  clung  fast  and  tight. 

The  rifts  in  the  clouds  wore  a  lovely  blue, 

The  air  grew  a  little  keener  too. 

On  a  silent  town  in  spotless  white, 

The  moon  smiled  down  from  her  dizzy  height. 

Through  feathery  aisles  of  orchard  trees, 

Over  roofs  of  patient  quiet  bees, 

On  the  fences  and  over  the  lane, 

Out  on  the  meadow's  level  plain, 

The  fettered  brooklet  showing  through, 

The  mountain  tops  in  the  distant  blue; 

All  in  their  snowy  dress  of  white, 

And  the  smiling  moon  on  her  dizzy  height. 


[26] 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  CORN 

IN  the  golden  days  of  Harvest 

When  skies  are  blue  and  fair, 
Beyond  the  purpling  hill  tops, 
When  a  chill's  in  the  bracing  air. 

Among  the  nodding  cornfields 

Russet  and  red  and  gold, 
Autumn,  in  robes  of  beauty, 
Lingers  before  the  cold. 

'Tis  said  in  the  old  time  legend 

When  the  Harvest  moon  is  bright, 
Out  of  the  Happy  Hunting  Grounds 
Into  the  whispering  night, 

Come  the  allied  Indian  forces 
In  feathered  dress  of  yore, 
A  spectral,  weird  procession 
To  lead  the  dance  once  more. 

They  move  in  solemn  rhythm 

And  sway  with  every  breeze, 
Their  lithesome,  sinuous  motions 
The  grace  of  savage  ease; 

They  shake  their  rustling  fringes, 
And  nod  their  feathered  plumes, 
And  all  their  gaudy  trappings 
The  moonlight  soft  illumes. 


[27] 


And  so  when  the  corn  is  standing 

In  shocks  on  the  moonlit  ground, 

And  the  night  wind  roams  among  them 

With  a  mournful,  moaning  sound, 

They  come  in  strange  procession 

With  feathered  dress  of  yore, 
And  chant  some  old  time  melody 
As  they  lead  the  dance  once  more. 


[28] 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  HILL 

A  House  with  wings  on  either  side, 

Crowning  the  hill  where  tall  elms  sway, 

Whose  many  whispering  voices 
In  soft  cadences  die  away. 

Its  call  goes  forth  from  an  open  door 

As  many  a  call  has  gone  before ; 

The  maimed,  the  lame,  the  ill  and  blind, 

Like  weary  pilgrims  come  to  find 

A  surcease  from  their  haunting  pain  — 

The  boon  of  life  and  health  again. 

Of  such  was  I.     Through  its  open  door 

I  passed,  as  many  had  done  before, 

Weary  and  ill  in  body  and  soul, 

A  suppliant  praying  to  be  made  whole. 

At  shut  of  even  in  the  semi  gloom, 

An  Angel  passed  from  room  to  room; 

Her  touch  brought  hope  to  the  heart  of  the 

weak, 

And  the  blush  of  health  to  many  a  cheek. 
Now  and  then  by  some  stricken  bed 
An  instant  she  paused  and  pitying  said, 
"  You  can  bear  no  more.     Come  home  with  me, 
From  this  broken  body  I'll  set  you  free." 
The  two  passed  out  like  a  fleeting  breath 
And  this  is  the  Passing  that  men  call  Death ; 

[29] 


The  unseen  Nurse  who  comes  each  night, 
And  no  man  sees  when  she  takes  her  flight. 

Through  endless  days  and  nights  of  pain, 

When  shadows  clouded  my  weary  brain, 

She  subdued  my  heart's  wild  throbbing  strife 

And  quelled  the  turbulent  channels  of  life. 

I  saw  her  not.     She  spoke  no  word, 

I  only  knew  that  my  pulses  stirred, 

And  life  and  health  infused  again 

The  broken  structure  where  despair  had  lain. 

The  Angel  that  men  call  Death  is  Life ; 

To  some  she  brings  peace  from  endless  strife; 

She  comes  by  day  and  oft  by  night, 

But  no  man  sees  when  she  takes  her  flight. 

She  may  return  at  no  distant  day, 

But  my  work  will  not  unfinished  lay, 

Since  she  gave  to  me  to  feel  once  more 

The  sweet  pure  air  of  the  open  door. 

A  House  with  wings  on  either  side, 

Crowning  the  hill  where  tall  elms  sway, 

Whose  many  whispering  voices 
In  soft  cadences  die  away. 


[30] 


WINTER  CLOUDS 

DARK  sullen  clouds  are  lifting 

Fantastic  shapes  on  high, 
In  changing  masses  drifting 
Across  the  wintry  sky. 
Lifting, 
Drifting, 

Ever  shifting 
Across  the  wind  swept  sky. 

Somewhere  the  sun  is  shining  — 

Must  be  they've  turned  to  gold, 
For  the  fringes  of  their  lining 
Our  longing  eyes  behold ; 
Shining, 
Lining, 

Intertwining, 
Our  watching  eyes  behold. 

With  dark  days  ever  coping 

Behind  the  frosted  pane, 
Our  waiting  hearts  are  hoping 
'Til  Springtime  comes  again, 
Groping, 
Coping, 

Hoping 
'Til  Springtime  comes  again. 


[31] 


LONGING 

I  STOOD  on  the  city's  pavement, 

And  looked  with  dizzy  eyes 
On  the  piles  of  cement  and  marble 

Towering  to  meet  the  skies. 
I  heard  the  din  and  clatter; 

The  clamor  and  rush  and  rattle, 
Like  the  tread  of  a  mighty  army 

And  the  swelling  surge  of  battle. 

And  I  longed  for  the  quiet  country, 

The  smell  of  the  new  mown  hay, 
The  lanes  where  once  we  traveled, 

That  led  o'er  the  hills  away. 
The  farm  house  back  in  the  meadow, 

And  the  waving  fields  of  grain, 
The  golden  fruit  of  the  orchard 

And  to  feel  like  a  child  again. 


[8*] 


EARTH'S  MISSION 

THE  Earth 
Is  a  great  teacher. 
The  best  results 
Are  obtained  by  cultivation; 
From  the  products  of  her  surface 
Man  builds  his  home; 
She  yields  sustenance 

For  his  support, 
And  warmth  for  his  comfort. 
In  her  cool  embrace 
Man  lays  away  his  dead, 

And  she  reduces 
His  bones  to  dust. 
She  drinks  up  the  blood  of  battles, 
And  sends  therefrom 
The  sweet  aroma 
Of  the  wild  flowers. 

The  Earth 

Is  a  great  teacher, 

And  man  may  take 
A  lesson  therefrom; 
The  best  results 

To  the  mind  of  man, 

Are  obtained  by  cultivation. 

He  must  be  trained 
In  the  way  of  good ; 

[33] 


He  must  be  taught  the  inspiration 
Of  Purity  and  Truth, 

Lest  into  his  soul  creep  lust  and  murder, 

And  man  become  a  leper. 
Let  him  take  a  lesson  from  the  Earth  — 
Both  are  the  creation  of  God, 
And  Purity  and  Truth 
Are  His  attributes. 


[34] 


ON  THE  PLAIN 

WHISPERING  winds 
Among  the  pines, 

Sighing  sad  and  low, 
Gathering  haste 
O'er  snowy  waste, 
Wailing  as  they  go. 

Paring  forth 
From  the  north, 

Bitter,  biting  cold, 
Fiercely  beat 

The  stinging  sleet 
E'er  the  day  is  old. 

O'er  the  plain 
A  man  drew  rein 

In  the  raging  storm, 
Flickering  life 
In  feeble  strife 

Essaying  to  be  warm. 

A  shuddering  sound 
In  fierce  rebound ; 

A  long  and  curdling  wail, 
Upon  the  track 
A  coward  pack 

Coming  through  the  gale. 

[35] 


Morning  fair, 
Sky  so  clear, 

Sunlight  seeks  in  vain 
The  hurtling  fate; 
The  thirst  insatiate 

Of  the  empty,  silent  plain. 


[36] 


THE  WOE  OF  ST.  PIERRE 

LONG  the  Southern  sunshine  glinted 

The  roofs  of  St.  Pierre, 
Mont  Pelee's  sheltering  slopes  were  tinted 

With  tropic  flowers  rare. 
Ships  came  and  went,  a  gala  lot, 

And  men  passed  to  and  fro, 
And  life  was  bright  in  this  island  spot 

As  anywhere  one  may  go. 

But  one  fatal  morn  Mont  Pelee  broke 

The  vials  of  his  wrath, 
To  death  the  sleeping  town  awoke 

In  grim  destruction's  path. 
The  monster  vampire  swooping  down 

Poured  out  his  molten  fire, 
And  of  the  helpless  unwarned  town 

Made  a  blackened  funeral  pyre. 

A  flood  of  awful  burning  death 

Rolled  out  upon  the  sea; 
Ships  were  engulfed  with  every  breath 

From  shaking  Mont  Pelee. 
The  decks  with  shriveled  men  were  massed, 

The  cordage  to  ashes  fell, 
And  over  all  a  darkness  cast, 

Like  the  very  depths  of  Hell. 


[37] 


Storms  may  beat  and  gales  may  blow, 

'Til  gales  shall  cease  to  be ; 
Ships  may  come  and  ships  may  go 

O'er  the  island  studded  sea  — 
The  sunlight  woos  that  quiet  grave 

And  vainly  thrills  the  air  — 
Nor  ocean  beating  wave  on  wave, 

Can  waken  St.  Pierre. 


[38] 


THE  MOONLIGHT 

THERE  are  some  things 

We  cannot  speak. 

When  the  moonlight  lies  white 

On  the  frozen  ground, 

And  long  shadows 

Have  their  fling, 

We  may  turn  low  the  light 

In  a  warm  homey  room, 

And  sit  at  the  window 

And  think, 

And  drink 

And  absorb,  but  — 

There  are  some  things 

We  cannot  speak. 


[39] 


OCTOBER 

MONTH  of  russet  and  red  and  gold, 

Shining  days  just  edged  with  cold; 

Purple  sunsets  and  sweet  still  night ; 

Skies  that  are  blue  and  stars  that  are  bright ; 

Hazy  sunlight  and  golden  sheaf; 

Mellow  apples  and  falling  leaf ; 

Busy  farmers  and  lowing  kine 

Out  in  the  rowen  meadows  fine ; 

Flocks  of  fowl  in  their  southward  flight; 

Furry  marauders  at  work  all  night. 

Whispering  winds  that  wail  and  sigh 

That  all  things  bright  are  born  to  die ; 

Fragrance  of  dying  departing  things  ; 

Rustling  of  red  leaves  where  ivy  clings ; 

The  woodman's  axe  through  the  forest  ringing ; 

The  glad  housewife  at  her  first  fire  singing ; 

O  fair  October !  in  robes  divine, 

To  link  the  seasons  must  ever  be  thine. 


[40] 


WHERE? 

WHERE  is  God? 

Is  He  hid  away 
In  the  dim  old  aisles 
Where  shadows  lay? 

What  answer  gives 

The  whispering  breeze 
That  plays  among 
The  vibrant  trees? 

The  trilling  notes 

Of  happy  birds? 
The  lowing  of 

Contented  herds? 

The  dreamy  rhythm 

Of   yon   purling   stream? 
The  Lake's  fair  bosom, 
Its  waves  agleam? 

Vale  and  valley 

And  rolling  hills? 
Woodland  slopes 
And  shaded  rills? 

Grey  piles  of  rock 

Where  mosses  grow? 
Grand  mountain  peaks 
White  capped  with  snow? 


[41] 


The  heavenly  blue 
Of  yonder  sky? 
The  fleecy  clouds 
Enmassed  on  high? 

The  answer  trace 

In  sacred  scroll, 
A  responsive  echo 
In  the  soul. 


[4*] 


THE  OTTER 

WHEN  Nature  wakes  to  beauty, 

Space  thrills  with  droning  bees, 
And  gentle  summer  breezes 

Play  among  the  trees, 
Fishing  boats  and  pleasure  launches, 

Sailing  craft  and  steamers  grand 
Gem  the  bosom  of  the  Otter 

Like  a  scene  from  fairy  land. 

Would  you  quaff  the  thrilling  nectar 

From  the  deeps  of  Nature's  cup? 
Take  a  trip  adown  the  Otter 

Ere  the  busy  world  is  up ; 
Ere  the  sun  along  the  valley 

Dries  the  dewy  fields  of  night, 
Watch  the  wild  and  timid  creatures 

Coming  forth  into  the  light. 

Chattering  flocks  of  hungry  blackbirds 

Settle  'mong  the  nodding  corn, 
The  eagle  soars  on  lofty  pinions 

Fearless  in  the  early  morn ; 
Birds  unknown  and  birds  familiar, 

Blend  their  notes  along  the  stream  — 
Glides  your  boat  in  raptured  silence, 

Like  the  music  of  a  dream. 


[43] 


Looking  back  on  many  ages 

Otter's  waters  flow  serene, 
None  of  us  may  know  the  stages 

Or  the  varied  change  of  scene. 
We  but  guess  how  long  the  Red  man 

Fished  upon  this  quiet  water, 
When  the  dense  primeval  forest 

Darkened  all  the  shining  Otter. 

When  the  white  man's  flint  lock  musket 

Sent  its  first  resounding  call, 
Pioneer  axes  swung  in  rhythm 

To  rear  a  village  at  the  fall, 
Rocks  of  ages,  smooth  and  polished, 

Standing  silent,  grim  and  tall, 
Breaks  the  Otter  reckless  o'er  them, 

Foaming,  thundering  at  the  Fall. 

Men  of  iron  will  and  courage 

Wrought  far  past  the  eventide, 
Ere  McDonough's  fleet  went  sailing 

Down  the  Otter's  shining  tide; 
Cut  their  way  around  the  British 

In  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
Where  they  blocked  the  river's  entrance, 

And  routed  them  in  flight. 

From  Widow  Story's  historic  cave 
To  Fort  Cassin's  storied  shore, 

The  Otter  has  been  the  water  way 
For  men  and  deeds  of  yore. 
[44] 


What  scenes  await  the  future  years 
Adown  Time's  coming  ages 

We  know  not,  neither  can  we  guess 
The  varied,  changing  stages. 

Men  come  and  go  —  are  laid  to  rest, 

Not  so  our  storied  river, 
Unswerving  on  its  steady  course 

It  flows  and  flows  forever, 
Pond  memory  weaves  a  golden  thread 

Along  this  shimmering  water, 
Endearing  all  its  winding  way  — 

Our  peaceful  shining  Otter. 


[45] 


IN  THE  TWILIGHT 

THE  sun  hangs  low  in  the  beautiful  west, 
And  over  the  earth  in  her  green  robes  dressed, 
Is  falling  the  holy  hush  of  rest 

Like  a  prayer  on  the  wings  of  the  soul. 

The  bleating  of  sheep  and  the  lowing  of  kine 
From  the  pasture  slopes  and  the  woods  of  pine, 
Are  stilled  by  the  farmer's  thatch  and  vine 
Where  the  flocks  lie  down  to  rest. 


The  deep  toned  bell  from  the  quaint  old  tower, 
Over  the  village  roofs  in  swelling  power 
Is  tolling  forth  the  matin  hour, 

With    an    answering    thrill    in    each    man's 
breast. 

The  dark  woods  lie  on  every  side ; 
The  grand  hills  rear  their  heads  in  pride, 
In  the  holy  hush  of  eventide, 
They  worship  in  temples  of  air. 

On  the  hill,  in  the  valley,  the  village  lies ; 
Its  peaceful  spires  through  the  foliage  rise 
In  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  sunset  skies  — 
A  pastoral  picture  fair. 

[46] 


My  soul  bows  down  in  the  hush  of  the  hour, 
In    reverence    accepting    His    deep,    subduing 

power, 

And  each  trembling  leaf  and  folded  flower 
Are  bowed  in  worship  too. 


[47] 


I 
THE  HOMELIGHT 

SET  the  light  burning, 
Keep  the  home  warm 
For  the  sake  of  the  dear  one 
Out  in  the  storm. 

The  world  is  a  battle  field, 

They  who  earn  bread 
Must  wrest  it  by  toil 

With  hands  or  with  head. 

Set  it  burning,  my  dear, 
Let  its  radiance  shine, 
Make  the  home  homelike, 
Thy  task  is  divine. 

The  smile  of  good  cheer, 

The  soft  word  of  praise, 
The  neatly  clad  housewife, 
The  small  thrifty  ways, 

Make  the  home  beautiful 

And  keep  the  hearth  warm, 
For  some  one  who's  toiling 
Out  in  the  storm. 

Set  the  light  burning, 
Thy  task  is  divine, 
Over  thine  own  life 
Its  halo  will  shine. 


[48] 


A  PRAYER 

O  GOD, 

Teach  me 

To  take  mine  inheritance. 

To  reach  out 

And  accept 

From  Thy  hand, 

All 

Thou  hast  intended 

For  me. 

O  God, 

Teach  me 

From  this  full  measure, 

To  mete  out 

To  others 

Who,  courage  lost, 

Are 

Blindly  groping 

For  Thee. 


[49] 


IN  THE  DARK 

I  LAY  in  the  dark 

And  watched  the  lights  of  the  town, 

Between  them  and  my  open  window 

Great  trees  swayed  gently  in  the  wind, 

They  made  a  moving  fret-work 

Of  leaves 

On  the  wall, 

And  the  white  hangings 

Of  my  bed. 

My  eyes  flew  wide  open 

At  the  strangeness 

Of  the  thing. 

As  they  advanced 

And  receded, 

I  lay  and  watched  them 

In  the  dark. 


[50] 


DISAPPOINTMENT 

WE  made  a  pact, 
You  and  I, 

The  sun  shone 

And  it  transfigured  our  path. 

We  came  to  the  forks  of  the  road, 

You  said  this  way, 

I  said  that, 

And  tho  we  came  this  way, 

I  still  think  it  is  wrong, 

For  it  leads  thru  a  land 

Where  there  is  no  sunshine. 

I  love  the  sunshine  — 

And  the  cup  you  gave  me  to  drink 

What  was  in  it? 

The  lees  are  bitter,  bitter, 

And  there  is  a  taste  of  ashes 

In  my  mouth. 


[51] 


ON  THE  CLIFFS 

WE  sat  on  the  cliffs  at  sunset 
And  gazed  o'er  the  lake  so  fair, 

With  never  a  breeze  disturbing 
The  silent  evening  air. 

The  sky  was  clothed  in  splendor, 
In  hues  of  pink  and  blue, 

And  the  water  blushed  in  answer, 
A  beautiful  roseate  hue. 

Dark  cedars  stood  like  sentinels 
Along  the  rock  bound  shore, 

And  down  in  the  clear  still  water 
We  saw  them  reflected  o'er. 

The  hills  rose  far  in  the  distance 
And  fair  green  isles  we  saw, 

An  enchanted  panorama  — 
A  picture  without  a  flaw. 

Then  slowly  the  bright  hues  faded, 
The  light  went  out  of  the  west, 

The  night  and  its  sad  sweet  voices 
Folded  the  place  in  rest. 


[58] 


LOVE 

SHE  thrills  the  soft  breeze  of  the  morning, 

That  stirs  like  a  whisper,  the  trees, 

And  the  gold  that  embays  the  bright  petals, 

When  flowerets  unfold  to  the  sun. 

All  the  shadowy  places  are  shining 

With  a  wonderlight  fair  to  behold; 

The  glare  of  the  noontide  is  softened, 

That  lies  on  the  meadow's  rare  bloom, 

And  I  float  as  a  gossamer  bubble 

Down  the  wane  of  the  afternoon. 

When  evening  shuts  down  like  a  mantle, 
And  wraps  me  in  softest  repose, 
She  comes  like  the  down  of  the  thistle 
And  twines  in  my  hair  the  red  rose. 


[53] 


VERSE 

IT  may  be  a  song,  a  fragment  of  prayer ; 

A  quaver  of  bird  carol  in  the  air ; 

A  whisper  of  leaves  in  a  maple's  shade ; 

A  glint  of  sunshine  across  a  glade ; 

The  ripple  and  purl  of  dappling  streams ; 

The  hazy  memory  of  happy  dreams ; 

A  dewy  rose  on  a  summer  morn ; 

The  hush  of  nature  where  love  is  born. 

A  woodland  path  that  once  you  knew, 
Where  anemone  and  violet  grew; 
The  perfume  wafted  from  a  flower ; 
A  bit  of  comfort  in  sorrow's  hour  — 
These  are  the  things  for  a  poet  planned, 
Couched  in  a  language  men  understand. 


[54] 


HOW  THE  WEST  BEGAN 

FROM  the  sunrise  land  of  a  thousand  hills ; 
From  the  lure  of  rivers,  lakes  and  rills ; 
From  the  farms  along  New  England's  waters, 
Went  forth  her  sturdy  sons  and  daughters, 
That's  how  the  West  began. 

Across  prairies  drear  and  lonely, 
Each  dragging  day  a  few  miles  only, 
Belongings  packed  in  a  wagon  van  — 

That's  how  the  West  began. 

New  England's  men  and  women  too, 
The  ones  who  went  to  dare  and  do, 
Thru  sweat  and  toil  and  often  tears, 
They  were  the  Western  pioneers  — 

That's  how  the  West  began. 

A  little  shack  on  the  rolling  plain, 
The  stress  of  toil,  the  sting  of  pain, 
The  pluck  and  vim  of  the  Eastern  man  — 
That's  how  the  West  began. 


[55] 


NOR  YET  ALONE 

I  DWELL  among  dear  familiar  things, 
Your  gifts  and  mine; 
Souvenirs  of  happy  days ; 
Keepsakes  from  those  now  dead ; 
Things  brought  from  lands  and  climes 
Where  our  varied  journeyings  led. 

Now  you  have  gone 

And  left  me  here  alone. 

Yet  not  alone.     Among  fond  memories 

I  dwell  in  sweet  content; 

The  happy  voices  of  children  dear, 

Their  songs  and  laughter, 

Plaints  and  woes 

Again  I  seem  to  hear. 

Oft  I  pass  from  room  to  room 

Where  their  belongings  are; 

I  touch  them  lovingly  and  think 

How  they  are  doing  things 

Out  in  the  world  afar; 

Their  letters  come,  a  welcome  break 

From  books  galore,  and  dreams, 

And  work  so  light  and  varied 

It  but  a  pastime  seems. 


[56] 


When  I  too  pass  out 
There  will  be  none  to  live 
Among  the  things  you  left. 
Returning  feet  of  wandering  ones 
May  echo  here  once  more; 
Or  maybe  loneliness  will  creep 
Into  the  empty  rooms, 
And  no  footprints  will  disturb 
The  dust  upon  the  floor. 

I  love  the  room 

That  once  was  yours, 

Its  window  toward  the  town ; 

I  bring  my  work  to  linger  here 

In  the  stillness  sweet, 

You  seem  so  very  near. 

Fond  memories  are  mine 

With  dreams  and  books  galore; 

Content  and  peace 

And  letters  dear, 

How  could  I  ask  for  more? 


[57] 


WHEN  I  WOULD  GO 

WHEN  the  summer  breeze  is  soft  and  light 
Before  the  coming  of  the  night ; 
When  the  sunset  lures  me  home  to  rest 
With  my  windows  open  toward  the  west. 
When  the  flowers  fold  their  leaves  to  sleep 
And  twilight  shadows  softly  creep, 
And  softly  trail  from  sifting  wings 
A  dimness  o'er  familiar  things ; 

Through  the  gathering  dusk  of  coming  night 
My  soul  would  wing  its  outward  flight, 
For  me,  dear  children,  do  not  weep, 
But  all  the  loving  memories  keep 
Of  days  gone  by  and  days  unborn ; 
Fill  well  the  places  you  adorn. 


[58] 


GOD'S  SMILE 

THE  dismal  rain  was  falling 

From  out  a  leaden  sky, 
And  mournful  winds  were  calling 

To  waters  rolling  high. 

But  when  the  rain  clouds  lifted 

And  showed  the  rifts  of  blue, 
My  heart  grew  lighter,  lighter, 

God's  smile  was  shining  through, 
It  touched  the  sodden  landscape 

And  all  the  trembling  leaves, 
'Til  they  shone  in  dewy  splendor  — 

A  fretwork  of  spangled  weaves. 

It  kissed  the  pulsing  waters 

And  broadened  o'er  the  plain, 
Refulgent  on  the  mountain  tops 

Its  glory  shone  again. 
My  heart  grew  lighter,  lighter, 

As  I  opened  its  sombrous  door, 
And  glory  filled  a  sanctum 

Where  shadows  lay  before. 


[59] 


OUR  NAME 

You  have  heard  them  tell,  O  children ! 

In  the  misty  long  ago, 
How  our  fathers  struck  for  Freedom 

A  strong  decisive  blow; 
How  they  seized  a  rusty  musket ; 

In  the  furrow  left  the  plow ; 
Hunger  bore  and  grinding  hardship 

With  the  death  damp  on  their  brow. 

'Tis  a  thing  we  should  remember 

Traced  on  History's  solemn  page, 
Why  our  hero,  Ethan  Allen, 

In  that  dim  and  distant  age, 
Named  our  fair  and  ancient  city 

For  a  man  in  sunny  France ; 
For  the  old  Green  Mountain  heroes 

Never  did  a  thing  by  chance. 

Count  De  Vergennes,  our  namesake, 

Made  the  history  of  this  land. 
For  our  fathers,  struggling  handful, 

He  made  firm  and  loyal  stand. 
He  detained  the  pressing  orders 

The  King  of  France  detailed ; 
Refusing  to  help  the  Colonies 

'Til  all  Louis'  ships  had  sailed. 

[60] 


The  King  decreed  that  Franklin 

Should  not  enter  Paris  gate, 
But  the  same  friend,  ever  watchful, 

Saw  the  message  came  too  late. 
That  he  stood  in  staunchest  friendship 

By  our  sainted  Franklin's  side, 
Is  an  all  sufficient  reason 

For  an  homage  true  and  wide. 

Vergennes  gave  us  Count  De  Rochambeau, 

With  his  brave  twelve  thousand  strong, 
Holding  back  King  George  of  England, 

Helping  right  a  grievous  wrong. 
Through  him  America  received 

Its  beloved  Lafayette, 
Whose  effective  aid  to  Washington 

We  never  shall  forget. 

And  this  is  why,  0  children ! 

That  this  favored  spot  of  earth, 
With  its  cloud  capped  mountain  setting 

And  its  shining  river  girth, 
Caught  the  soul  of  Ethan  Allen 

With  a  name  he  cherished  dear ; 
On  your  memory  deep  inscribe  it; 

Count  De  Vergennes,  or  Charles  Gravier. 


[61] 


WHY  WE  LOVE  VERGENNES 

A  REBEL  Patriot  paused  one  day 
Beside  yon  cataract's  foaming  spray. 
A  few  small  houses  stood  beside 
The  river's  swift  and  turbid  tide; 
A  few  small  houses  and  that  was  all, 
Clustered  for  safety  about  the  Fall. 
What  was  it  he  saw  that  his  pulses  fired? 
What  was  it  he  felt  that  his  soul  inspired? 
In  the  wilderness  lay  this  sunlit  glade, 
A  hallowed  spot  by  Nature  made; 
A  little  spot  where  the  trees  were  felled, 
But  Ethan  Allen  in  vision  beheld 
A  busy  city  beside  the  Fall, 
And  obeying  at  once  the  insistent  call, 
He  secured  a  charter  to  hold  forever 
This  charming  spot  beside  the  river. 

That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

May  it  bring  to  us  a  thought  of  cheer, 
It  was  not  because  of  the  numbers  here ; 
The  heritage  that  is  handed  down 
To  us,  who  live  in  this  quaint  old  town, 
Is  mightier  far  than  the  millions  made 
In  the  sweating  toil  of  the  shops  of  trade. 
The  beaten  way  our  fathers  trod 
Lay  close  to  Nature  and  Nature's  God ; 
The  quiet  homes  and  the  simple  life ; 
The  absence  of  turmoil,  crime  and  strife; 
[62] 


The  ready  sympathy  and  right  good  will ; 
Each  man  and  woman  with  a  place  to  fill, 
That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

The  song  birds  flit  among  our  trees, 
Their  glad  notes  mingle  with  the  breeze ; 
A  little  earlier  they  come 
To  make  with  us  their  summer  home. 
The  wild  flowers  bloom  not  far  away 
Where  meadows  spread  their  green  array ; 
The  woods  and  hills  enclose  us  round ; 
The  mountain  peaks  our  vision  bound, 
And  gorgeous  sunsets  down  the  west 
Herald  the  night's  approaching  rest, 
When  peace  and  quiet  settle  down 
Like  a  benediction  o'er  the  town. 

That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

The  Sabbath  is  a  little  holier  here, 
Its  bells  ring  out  in  cadence  clear, 
The  pave  is  worn  with  passing  feet 
As  they  call  and  call  with  a  meaning  sweet. 
The  song  of  praise ;  the  hush  of  prayer ; 
The  belief  in  a  Heavenly  Father's  care, 
Form  a  tie  of  brotherhood  true  and  tried. 
And  all  men  worship  side  by  side. 
Each  man's  better  self  awakes 
When  the  Sabbath  stillness  o'er  us  breaks. 
That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

[63] 


Among  the  friends  we  cherish  dear, 
Some  go  out  each  passing  year ; 
On  the  hillside  green  they  sweetly  rest, 
The  peace  of  God  on  each  still  breast. 
A  mound  of  earth ;  a  gift  of  flowers ; 
Each  hallowed  dead,  they  still  are  ours ; 
Inert  and  silent,  tho  they  lie, 
They  bind  us  with  another  tie. 

That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

The  dearest  spot  in  all  the  earth 
Is  the  goodly  land  that  gave  us  birth. 
The  charm  of  home  has  a  strong  appeal ; 
It  binds  the  heart  with  bands  of  steel, 
And  if  we  go  out  to  criticise 
Some  loiterer  waits  to  put  us  wise  ; 
We  easily  find  the  things  we  seek ; 
Some  spot  in  our  brother's  armor  weak. 
This  was  not  in  the  vision  the  Patriot  saw, 
But  a  city  of  homes  without  a  flaw; 
The  ready  sympathy  and  right  good  will ; 
Each  man  and  woman  with  a  place  to  fill, 
And,  friends,  "  it  is  up  to  you  and  me  " 
To  make  this  place  what  it  ought  to  be. 
That's  why  we  love  Vergennes. 

Read  at  Old  Home  Week  celebration  July  second,  nine 
teen  hundred  sixteen. 


[64] 


BELLS 

j 

ONE  Sabbath  eve  at  leisure  sweet, 

Through  a  village  street  I  strolled, 
While  the  bells  from  the  neighboring  churches 

For  evening  service  tolled. 
Sweetly  the  chimes  were  calling 

The  people  forth  to  pray, 
And  the  shades  of  night  were  falling 

That  lovely  autumn  day. 

The  matin  bells  are  ringing 

Through  the  shades  of  the  soft  twilight, 
Sweet  old  time  memories  bringing 

Home  to  my  heart  to-night. 
My  pulses  thrill  as  I  listen, 
I  love  their  music  so ; 
They  carry  me  back  to  other  days, 
And  the  bells  of  long  ago. 


[65] 


LAYING  THE  CORNER  STONE 

WE  have  gathered  in  the  sunshine 

'Neath  the  blue  September  sky, 
With  yon  cloud-capped  mountain  setting 

And  the  river  rolling  by ; 
And  perchance  there  are  some  in  Heaven 

Who  once  this  place  have  known, 
Who  would  like  to  bend  and  listen 

As  we  lay  this  corner  stone. 

Fit  spot  for  a  temple  of  knowledge 

On  this  beautiful  sloping  lawn, 
With  its  great  trees  whispering  overhead 

And  its  entrance  facing  the  dawn, 
Where  many  feet  may  go  in  and  out; 

The  weary,  the  sated  and  old, 
And  eager  boys  and  girls  who  seek 

For  the  aid  its  shelves  will  hold. 


And  when  the  hues  of  sunset 

Entranced  the  senses  hold, 
And  all  its  western  windows 

Shine  out  like  burnished  gold, 
When  evening  shadows  stealing 

And  stars  in  the  heaven  shine, 
And  man  for  a  hand  of  guiding 

Comes  in  touch  with  the  Divine, 

[66] 


It  is  then  we  may  remember 

This  pleasant  place  of  rest, 
And  find  the  thoughts  of  other  men 

Whose  feet  the  way  have  pressed ; 
Who  have  struggled  with  the  problems 

We  are  daily  called  to  meet ; 
They  have  traced  the  opening  chapters 

We  may  the  book  complete. 

And  shall  we  not  gladly  cherish 

A  memory  true  and  fond, 
Of  one  who  has  crossed  the  portal 

To  the  unknown  world  beyond? 
'Tis  a  privilege  and  a  duty 

To  honor  his  name  to-day, 
Whose  generous  gift  enables  us 

This  corner  stone  to  lay. 

His  thought  went  out  to  benefit 

The  people  he  lived  among, 
And  tho  so  few  of  them  understood, 

Warm  in  his  heart  it  sung; 
This  quiet  one  of  the  blameless  life 

Who  planned  for  others  cheer, 
Will  continue  to  live  in  other  lives 

With  every  passing  year. 


[67] 


And  when  the  subtle  changes  come 

That  over  towns  will  creep, 
And  when  our  children's  children 

In  quiet  graves  do  sleep ; 
This  beautiful  hall  will  still  be  here 

A  blessing  to  mankind, 
In  whose  treasures  every  passer-by 

A  helpfulness  may  find. 

O,  sons  and  daughters  of  old  Vergennes 

And  part  of  a  noble  state, 
Whose  bracing  air  and  grand  blue  hills 

Lead  up  to  Heaven's  gate; 
You  are  sharers  in  this  benefit  — 

For  you  this  liberal  plan; 
May  you  rise  to  fill  your  privilege 

And  help  your  fellow  man. 

When  all  the  wealth  and  pomp  of  earth 

Like  mists  have  passed  away, 
When  fanes  and  domes  and  spires 

In  dust  and  ashes  lay ; 
The  deeds  of  love  from  man  to  man 

On  Eternity's  boundless  shore, 
In  fadeless  glory  still  will  shine 

As  stars  forever  more. 


[68] 


To-day  as  we  stand  on  the  hillside 

'Neath  the  blue  September  sky, 
Framed  in  by  the  western  mountains 

And  the  river  rolling  by; 
May  we  come  within  the  radiance 

Around  the  Great  White  Throne, 
For  the  faith,  the  hope  and  charity, 

As  we  lay  this  corner  stone. 

(Read  at  the  laying  of  the  corner  stone  for  the  Bixby 
Memorial  Library  at  Vergennes,  September  21,  1911). 


[69] 


A  SONG 

THERE'S  a  song  in  the  air, 

I  can  hear  the  sweet  notes, 
It's  ringing  in  joy 

From  hundreds  of  throats  ; 
It  invades  the  deep  quiet 

Shut  up  in  my  breast, 
And  now  I  am  longing 

To  sing  with  the  rest. 


THE    END 


[70] 


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